The Love We Lost
by alicemaddness2018
Summary: Ginny is faced with a life altering choice. But before she can make her decision, she must start her story, their story, at the very beginning. Ginny and Harry meet as seniors at Hogwarts on a day that changes both of their lives forever. Together, they decide they want their lives to mean something, to matter. When they meet again a year later, it seems fated...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sometimes objects seem like they've wutbessed history. I used to imagine that the wooden table we sat around during McGonagall's Transfigurion class our senior year was as old as Hogwarts, that it had been in that room since 990 A.D., edges worn smooth by centuries of students like us, which of course couldn't be true. But that's how I pictured it. Students sitting there through the First Wizarding War, The Rise and Fall of Grindelwald, Ministry of Magic being formed.

It's funny, if you asked me who else was with us that day, I don't think I could tell you. I used to be able to see all their faces so clearly, but thirteen years later I remember only you and Professor McGonagall. I can't even recall the name of the student who came running in late to class. Later, even than you.

McGonagall had just finished calling roll when you pushed open the door. You smiled at me, your dimple making a brief apperance as you slipped off your robe and hung it on the back of the chair. Your eyes landed quickly on the empty seat next to mine, and than you did too.

"Perhaps it would be more useful if I were to transfigure you in a pocket watch? That way, you might be on time Mr. Potter." McGonagall said, as you reached into your bag for a notebook and pen.

You nodded, and McGonagall started talking about Animagi. " ..is a witch or wizard who can transform him or herself into an animal at will. It takes skill, practise, and patience for wizards and witches to become Animagi. The process of becoming an Animagus is long and arduous, and has the potential to backfire abd cause the transformation to go horribly wrong. Many withches and wizards simply fell that their time might better be employed in other ways, as the skill is of limited practical use unless one has a great need of disguise."

"I'll always remember that passage because I've wondered so many times since that day whether you and I were fated to meet in McGonagall's class. Whether it's destiny or decision that has kept us connected all these years. Or a combination of both, taking the current when it serves.

After McGonagall spoke, a few people flipped through the text in front of them. Your ran your fingers through your hair. "Well," you said, and the rest of the class joined me in looking at you. But you didn't get to finish.

The student who's name I can't remember came racing into the room. "Sorry I'm late," she said. A town in North Lincolnshire was destoryed, do you think it could be you know who." No one knew the significance of her words; not even she did.

"How many casualties?" McGonagall asked.

"I don't know," she said, taking her seat at the table. "I waited, but the newscasters had no idea what was going on.

If it had happened now, all of our phones would've been blowing up with news. Pings from Whoots and Wizardybook (their verison of Twitter and Facebook) and push notifications from the Daily Prophet. But communication then wasn't yet instant. We all shrugged it off and McGonagall kept talking about Animagi. As I took notes, I watched the fingers of your right hand unconsciously rub against the wood grain of the table. I doodled an image of your thumb with it ragged nail and torn cuticle. I still have the notebook somewhere in a box. I'm sure it's there.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I'll never forget what we said when we left Transfiguration. Even though the words were nothing special, the converation is burned into my memory as part of that day. We started down the steps together. Not exactly together, but next to each other. The air was clear, the sky was blue and everything had changed. We just didn't know it yet.

People all around us were talking over one another. "The Humber Bridge has collapsed!" "School's canceled!" "I want to donate blood. Do you know where I can donate blood?"

I turned to you. "What's going on?" "Let's go find out. You're Ginny, right?" "Nice to meet you, Ginny, I'm Harry." You held out your hand. Amid everything, I shook it, and looked up at you as I did. Your dimple came back. Your eyes shone green. I thought then, for the first time. He's beautiful.

We went to your dorm room and watched tv with your roommates, with Neville, Dean, and Seamus. On the screen bodies falling out of buildings, blackened mounds of rubble sent smoke signals into the sky, and the bridge falling in a loop. The devastation numbed us. We stared at the images, unable to reconcile the stories with our reality. The fact that this was happening in our city, only a few miles from where we sat, that those were people, actual human beings hadn't set in yet. At least not for me. It felt so far away.

Our cell phones didn't work. I used your phone in your dorm to call my mom in Devon, who wanted me to come home. They knew someone whose daughter was in North Lincolnshire and no one had heard from her yet. I told my dad that subways weren't running. Probably not the trains either. "I'll come get you," he said. "I'll jump in the car now." "I'll be okay," I told him. "I'm with some friends. We're fine. I'll call you again later." It still didn't feel real.

"You know," Dean said, after I hung up. "If I were a death eater, I'd drop a bomb on us."

"What the fuck?" Neville said. He was waiting to hear from his uncle, who is part of the Ministry of Magic. "I mean, if you think about it academically..." Dean said, but he didn't go any further. "Shut up," Seamus said. "Seriously, Dean. Not the time." "Maybe I should leave," I said to you then. I didn't really know you. I had just met your friends. "My roommates are probably wondering where I am."

"Call them," you said, handing the phone back to me. "And tell them you're going to the roof of Common Room. Tell them they can meet you there if you want."

"I'm going where?"

"With me," you said and you ran your fingers absently along my braid. It was an intimate gesture, the kind of thing that happens after all barriers of personal space have been breached. Like eating off someone else's plate without asking. And all of a sudden, I felt connected to you, like your hand on my hair meant something more than idle, nervous fingers.

I thought of a moment, years later, when I decided to donate my hair and the stylist handed me my braid, wrapped in plastic, looking even darker red than usual. Even though you were a world away then, I felt like I was betraying you, like I was cutting our tie.

But then, that day, right after you touched my hair you realized what you'd done and let your hand drop into your lap. You smiled at me again, but it didn't go to your eyes this time.

I shrugged. "Okay," I said. The world felt like it was cracking in pieces, like we'd gone through a shattered mirror into the fractured place inside, where nothing made sense, where our shields were down, our walls broken. In that place, there wasn't any reason to say no.


End file.
